Classic Poem

On the Proclamation of the Pact of Peace, July 24, 1929

Rejoice! This is the world's most holy day —
Holy as Christmas unto half the world,
Or as the day of France when she unfurled
The flag that holds all tyranny at bay;
Holy as when Our Great,
By what in boldness lies,
Carved fortune out of fate
And saved the certain out of dire uncertainties.
Holiest of these and yet comprising all —
Add to this day's new fame perpetual festival.

You of the little faith, who have not learned
What should be will be, though so oft adjourned,
You, who all counsels of despair believe:
Think you the light was given to deceive?
This miracle, you knew
Would never come to pass!
You could not see the dew
That, spite of young men's blood, made rainbows in the grass.
Let your faint heart rejoice, since this —
This is the Great War's end, the whole earth's armistice.

You of the narrow mind, who love your land
With little more than parish patriotism,
And count all judgments not your own as schism,
And aliens but the refuse of God's hand.
The patient teacher, Time
The slowest doth befriend;
You yet shall hear the chime
Of bells long jangled and shall hail their blend.
You shall see visions in a world made new
And all shall follow fast the faith that led the few.

You of the street, to whose indifference
This day is but another bead of days —
For hectic bargaining or for joys of sense:
Pause in your hastening toward unhonored ways;
This day for you was made —
You, who may never dream
Of wild rose in the glade,
And would not turn aside to meet the singing stream.
Could your dull world its happiness discern,
'Twould on the leaping hills rejoicing beacons burn.

You with the heart of prose, deaf to the thrall
Of age-old prophet voices singing Peace —
The poet Jesus and the poet Paul —
Staying the hunger that can never cease:
You see the obvious word,
But by its inner spell
Your spirit is not stirred:
Remote from you alike the thrill of Heaven or Hell.
Yet there be harps in casements of the soul
Where whispers breathe in song and roaring breakers roll.

This compact, sealed in Heaven, shall atone
For war's red folly. What was lost is lost.
What matters now the census of its cost?
What algebra can reckon that unknown?
Who can restore the tear
That fell for son or sire? —
Kindle with winter cheer
The flame that warmed the hearth's extinguished fire?
Yet who today would paltry life refuse?
For this the vanquished well may be content to lose.

Ye martyrs of the air, the land, the sea:
Sleep in your graves! Ye have not been betrayed.
The torch ye lighted nevermore shall fade.
The world's forbearance is your victory.
The shame of all the Past,
The agony, the goal
Of Hope in reach at last —
These are the sanctions of the peoples' soul.
Love — and the need of Love — makes all things new.
Nations shall keep their faith with nations — and with you.